


ambrosia

by thefudge



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Possessive Behavior, Pseudo-Incest, Sibling Incest, but allison needs it too sometimes, diego is a sub no surprise there, soundtrack: good for you by selena gomez but listen to the male version on youtube and get fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 02:24:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18273890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: His lips part. He can feel it - the lick of power, the meal of the gods. Ambrosia. It’s like possession, or being plundered. Like honeyed hooks sinking deep, robbing him of something essential. God, it feels good.





	ambrosia

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [ambrosia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18347597) by [larasorna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larasorna/pseuds/larasorna)



> catch these hands! cuz i'm not done with these siblings! also, i'm not 100% pleased with how this turned out but i'm also happy that it's imperfect, does that make sense?  
> oh, and someone on tumblr requested fuckboy!diego and while i'm sure i'll explore that in other fics too, i think there's a semblance of that here too? anyhoo, enjoy!

***

 

Knives, he thinks, knives are delicate.

They’re elegant and deadly, and they weigh nothing at all.

They’re stronger than flesh, but they can be kind to it too.

They’re not always sharp. They adapt.

Knives can be whatever you want them to be.

Sometimes, when he’s naked with her in the shower and she tells him to part her hair and please clean her off, the blade becomes water, it laps at her skin like a dog and melds with it.

His teeth follow suit.

Allison breathes out, leaning against him. “You’re good with that.”

With knives.

 

 

 

 

 _Better than Luther, though?_ he wants to ask. Or at least he used to want to ask.

It took a long while to figure out Luther didn’t count anymore. He had never starved like Diego and would never feed like him. He had never held Allison’s face between his hands and wiped the tears, pressing his thumbs in the hollow of her eyes, making her want to cry harder as she asked for forgiveness.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“But I - my own _daughter_ \- Patrick hates me -”

“Patrick has no fucking c-clue,” he half-stutters, tipping her jaw up. “Living with this kind of power. It would tempt anyone.”

“Would it tempt you?” she says, spilling tears in his palms.

He runs his thumb over her lips.

 _You’d already be rumored_ , he thinks without meaning to, hoping he doesn’t mean it.

He pulls her to his chest, letting her sob, pushing aside the question.

He’s never felt like a good person, deep down. He doesn’t feel like a good person right now. Because what he secretly wants to tell her is, _you did nothing wrong_.

Which isn’t true.

But Allison is dangerous that way, cuz she makes him want to live in a world where they make the rules, where _they_ decide what’s right and wrong.

Eudora used to tell him that being a vigilante gives you a false sense of clarity. Makes you believe your own bullshit.

Diego knows she’s got a point. But that point doesn’t apply to the Hargreeves.

 

 

 

 

Thirteen year-old Allison almost trips as she rushes down the corridor.

“ _Luther_!” she whispers.

If their father catches them they’re done for.

Where has he gone?

A hand wraps around her mouth and muffles her scream.

She’s pulled through the open door behind her just as she hears Grace and Reginald’s voices coming up the stairs.

Diego closes his door shut.

Allison leans against the wall, breathing hard.

They wait in uneasy silence for the coast to clear.

Diego glares at her.

Allison lowers her head. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. S-stop going off with him.”

She frowns. “We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re just...hanging out.”

“I’ll t-tell Mom,” Diego insists, fists clenched.

“I told you, we’re just hanging out!” she hisses.

“Uh-huh, sure. Then can I come too?”

Allison looks at him as if she’s seeing him for the first time, as if there was only Number One until now, and it confuses her that there are more numbers.

“I...you’d get bored.”

“I _wouldn’t_.”

“You don’t even like us...me.”

Diego leans forward. “I don’t like him.”

Allison swallows, watching him rest his hand next to her head. He’s trying to act older than he is.

“Go on,” he invites her, lifting his chin.

“W-what?” Now she’s the one stuttering.

“Rumor me to forget about it. You know you want to.”

Allison opens her mouth. She’s like a fish on dry land. She can’t breathe with all this air around her.

“I would _never_ do that. You're my brother.”

Diego smiles a precocious smile. “Yeah?” _Is Luther your brother too?_

 

 

 

 

“Rumor me.”

Allison reels. She tries to yank her hand away.

Diego’s grip is stubborn, much like him.

He drags her back on the bed, kneels in front of her.

“Rumor me. I want you to.”

Allison slaps him.

“You’re insane. And selfish. And stupid.”

He touches his jaw and smiles.

“M-maybe, but I need to know what it’s like.”

Allison wants to curse him. She wants to get out of this moldy basement. How can he live like this?

Diego twists one of her curls around his finger. “I just wanna feel you, Sis. The whole you.”

_I wanna be under your thumb._

But he’s too proud to beg.

He hasn’t yet told her he got kicked out of the police academy.

She grips his jaw, sinking her manicured nails in the flesh. She’s always been stronger than they gave her credit. “How do you know I haven’t done it already?”

Diego loves the sting. “Guess I d-don’t.”

Her mouth is close to his. “Guess you don’t.”

 

 

 

 _I just wanna feel you, Sis._ The words still haunt her. _I wanna feel you, the whole you._

Implying that there’s a part of her she never reveals. Implying she’s incomplete.

She’s not ashamed of it. She shouldn’t have to be.

They’re sitting in the kitchen, nursing their wounds.  Hazel and Cha Cha really did a number on them. Allison can feel every cut, every shard of glass still attached to her cheek.

Diego offers her a beer.

“Why didn’t you rumor that bitch?”

Allison licks her lips. “I could handle her.”

“Yeah...you just needed me to stab her in the ass.”

She smiles wearily. “You liked it.”

Diego chuckles. “Just like old times.”

He leans against the table. “What if they come back, you gonna chicken out again?”

Allison looks at him, really looks at him.

There’s always a moment where Diego stops being just her sibling and becomes Number Two again, taunting her, pushing her, trying to get her riled up. For whose benefit exactly? She’s not sure.

Allison is tired. Luther has holed up in his room, probably never to come out. Vanya left in tears because of them. Mom is dead. The whole place is falling apart.

She needs something hard and fast.

She cocks her head to the side. “I heard a rumor…”

Diego stills.

He’s never been so goddamn still in his life.  

He never thought this day would come.

His lips part. He can feel it - the lick of power, the meal of the gods.

Ambrosia.

It’s like possession, or being plundered. Like honeyed hooks sinking deep, robbing him of something essential.

God, it feels good.

He understands why his junkie brother is always searching for something like this. 

Allison leans forward. “I heard a rumor... that you pulled out your cock and touched yourself. You didn’t stop until you came all over your hands.”  

 

 

 

 

He tries to keep quiet, tries not to moan as he strokes himself, but then Allison keeps talking.

“How does that feel? Hmm? Does it feel good when I’m in your head? Look at me. Do you wanna come? Do you wanna come for me?”  

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, gripping the edge of the table so hard it might as well crack.

She's got her lips around the bottle head, drinks her beer slowly. 

He doesn’t stop until he comes all over his hands with his sister watching.

 

 

 

 

This might be payback for that time he told her he hopes her next film will turn out better than her marriage.

But he’s really not sorry for that one. He's not a good person. He always wanted her marriage to go under. He doesn't want only good things for her. When you've been raised by Reginald Hargreeves you develop a real fucking mean streak.

No, he's not sorry for any of the cuts they gave each other over the years.

A knife can be anything you want; it can be kind or cruel. 

You just grip the handle and twist. 

"Hey, Miss Congeniality," he murmurs, as he slips his fingers into the opening of her dress. 

He watched her walk the red carpet. Saw the photos from the Vanity Fair party. It's an ego stroke that Allison Hargreeves - _the_ Allison Hargreeves - is still wearing that party dress as she leans into him and kisses the side of his jaw. 

He might not be number one for her. Maybe not even number two. 

He's not a number. He's not even Diego. 

When Allison tells him to stop searching because she's not wearing any underwear, he doesn't know or care who he is anymore. 

 

 

 

 

"I'm with Luther on this."

"Surprise, surprise," he drawls, eyeing her with playful contempt. 

What he feels isn't jealousy - not entirely. It's a gnawing sense of frustration that he can't just tell Big Guy over here that Allison has only ever screamed _his_ name out loud. 

Everyone should know. 

But if they did, would he feel better? Would it really make her his? 

In terms of ownership he knows that he's the one who belongs to her. She could rumor him away. 

He hates the uncertainty of it, but thrives on the imbalance. 

_I wanna be under your thumb, but I'm too proud to beg._

 

 

 

 

The panic and devastation are replaced with euphoria when he realizes he's the only one who can give Allison blood. Luther is too animal, Klaus too human. 

But he's perfect.

It's _his_ blood running through her veins, _his_ blood that saves her.

He cradles her head and watches himself being poured into her, catheter to catheter. 

It's the best feeling in the world. 

 

 

 

 

Diego strolls into the parlor. 

"All right, guess I'll see you guys in what, ten years? When Pogo dies?" 

Allison scoffs. 

"Not if you die first." 

To outsiders it sounds like their usual back and forth, the halfhearted jabs between half-family, half-strangers. 

He brushes up against her, knowing there's a strong possibility that in a couple of hours he'll be gripping the side of her neck as he drives into her. There's always that moment of syncopated breathing when they can't believe they've done it. 

It's like that time he put his hand over her mouth and dragged her into his room. Every time he's inside her it's like that. 

He chuckles. "Yeah, love you too, Sis." 

And maybe it's not clean love, maybe it's not fair to either of them. Maybe they're not the first people they'd call in times of need, but they're the only people in this family who've decided it's okay to get fucked up together. Sometimes they laugh about it. Sometimes they cry alone. 

But the knife has taught them one thing: the only way out is through.

So he buries himself in her, expecting no answers, no cure. 

Just ambrosia. 


End file.
